


All Over the Lens As She's Falling

by WaddleBuff



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Cheating, Creampie, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Light Bondage, Marathon Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, Seduction, Stranger Sex, Stripping, Vaginal Fingering, ntr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22596382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaddleBuff/pseuds/WaddleBuff
Summary: Lonely and needy for touch after Ren moves away, Ann finds a new toy in the form of a cute photographer who’s been checking her out all week.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Takamaki Ann, Kurusu Akira/Takamaki Ann, Takamaki Ann/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23
Collections: Femdom February





	All Over the Lens As She's Falling

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As a model, Ann knew a lot about looks.  
  
How to smolder, how to look playful, how to gaze wistfully, how to peer into an unseen horizon.  
  
The culmination of hours in front of her mirror.  
  
In turn, she had an easier time reading people's looks. The slight crease of worry in their brow, the subtle squint of indiscretion, the half-moons of weariness.  
  
But she didn't need that experience to decipher the look she was getting right now from the guy behind the camera.  
  
"Can you uh, put your hand up- okay yeah, yeah like that," he said, giving her that look again, but Ann still obliged. "Juuust keep looking to the left, just a little more...perfect, alright."  
  
Another succession of clicks and the white glare of the lightbox, and the photographer lowered his camera.  
  
And gave her yet another of those looks.  
  
It was one that made her second-guess her poses, much to her embarrassment.  
She was a professional. She should be used to getting checked out.  
  
But it didn't help that this guy-a rookie, the agency said-was so damn cute.  
  
And it didn't help that the look in his eye was the same one Ren would smolder right before they fucked.

And it didn’t help that during that particular week, Ann was goddamned _horny_.

A lot of things had changed since Ren moved away. She missed him, every day. It wasn’t until his absence did she realize how much of her free time was dedicated to him, how dependent she had grown on him. In due time Ann decided to fill up that free time with as many gigs as she could manage, much to her agency’s delight.

But no amount of distractions supplemented her more intimate needs; late night Facetime calls with Ren coupled with her favorite toys could only do so much. She missed him, every day.

Almost as much as she missed his _dick_.

Her mind kept drifting, and drifting, and she silently cursed her long-distance boyfriend.

_“GodDAMMIT, Ren.”_

Ann shook the fog of her lust-addled mind, trying to root herself in the present. She had a job to do, horny or not...being checked out by a very attractive guy or not.

He was still giving her that look, and Ann found it harder to concentrate by the second.

_“Ugh, this seriously sucks…”_

The photographer’s leer was sucked back behind his viewfinder once more, and as naturally as she could, Ann’s body flowed into the next few shots. It was for a swimsuit special, “ _A Midwinter Heat Wave_ ”, as the idol magazine had put it.

It was a long shoot, with several dozen prepared swimsuits for the editors to later choose from. But at least it was a simple setup: a tropical mock-up in the background, some props including a parasol, a rideable inflatable duck (much to Ann’s dismay), and right now, a neon-pink inner tube.

It was due to the simple nature that the studio didn’t see the need for an entire crew, and thus enlisted a rookie freelancer to finish the job.

A cute freelancer, alone in a studio with Ann, who just couldn’t get over how goddamn _cute_ he was as she posed for him in a swimsuit that would put the shameless doppelganger of hers from Kamoshida’s palace to shame.

With more frustration, Ann smiled as naturally as she could.

It was _seriously_ hard to ignore those eyes. How he sized her up between every shot, taking _just_ the extra second for what was obviously his own private mental image collection.

It was as Ann heaved the inner tube up and over her head, beaming playfully with her chest jutted out towards the camera with a very awkward prompt (“O-Okay, um...can you just push uhhh, push _out_ when you raise your…” A gulp. “Y-Yeah there we go...your chest…” A cough. More shutter clicks.), that she realized something: she felt like she was wearing _too much._

A bead of sweat crawled torturously on her neck.

Her skin crawled, feeling stuffy as all hell, and the more she thought about it, the worse it got. She tried to deny the feeling, the urges welling up inside her; the heat in her loins was just because the studio’s heaters were at full blast, fending off the biting cold of the February winter. Yup, that was it. Just a few more shots and she’ll stroll outside, and all these strange inclinations to strip herself naked would be gone!

Ann looked off into the distance in the next few shots, keeping her mind away from anything unrelated to the shoot at hand. She heard the shutter clicks stop, and try as she might, she couldn’t stop her gaze to drift and investigate why.

Her pulse dipped, catching the photographer staring at her again with the camera lowered.

She caught the glimmer of sweat bead on the precipice of his jaw. She watched as it raced towards his chin right below his mouth, and her mind flashed with the image of that mouth on her neck.

Ann gulped.

_“Fuck…”_

Try as she might, she couldn’t break the shared gaze between her and this nameless cutie, and a deluge of her inner wants barraged her inner eye, coupled by sights that her outer ones gobbled up like sweets: from the photographer’s broad chest, the large hands that wrapped firmly around the metal barrel of his lens, and, most damningly, the conspicuous bulge in his track pants.

And of _course_ the bastard had to be wearing track pants.

Ann cursed in her mind and looked away again, feeling the sweat racing down her gooseflesh.

She shut her eyes really quick to collect herself.

This was all fucking Ren’s fault. It was partly her fault for being so reliant on him, for conceding every damn time he wanted a quickie, a nice little reprieve after a Mementos raid or intense exam, but it was always Ren who initiated, who asked for it, who took it from her.

Ann shut her eyes harder, knowing that at this point, any sort of distraction would be futile, especially with that lowkey hunk of dork gawking at her only a few feet away.

God, she missed _sex_.

Ann’s mind kept flashing. Desperate little tactile fantasies, her mind screaming that this was a golden opportunity to relieve herself of this tension that was plaguing her for weeks, a sudden hot and coiling feeling in her loins as she felt more clicking of the shutter.

She tried to imagine that it was Ren in those fantasies, tried to remember what his mouth felt like, how his hands felt on her hips, his skin, his warmth.

But try as she might, Ann could only imagine what this shy admirer of hers would feel like, how he might kiss, how he might taste, how he might _fu-_

Ann’s eyes flew open as her body tensed up. More sweat on her brow. He had his camera lowered again.

“I uhh...I think that’s all the shots that I...that we need, right now…” he said, trailing off as he gave a nervous smile.

Ann sighed and, out of the corner of her eye, could still see the _very conspicuous_ visual confession of what was on his mind.

She was at her wit’s end as a brief silence past. She felt the warmth of the studio’s heater on her skin, on shoulders that ached for touch.

Then, as her mind flurried in a hot storm of repression, backed up needs and desires...

Carmen spoke.

The boom of her voice was as clear as the day Ann had awoken her in Kamoshida’s Palace.

**_Why must you bend to the will of a boy who doesn’t care?_ **

Ann should have been surprised. It was one of the only times her Persona had even spoken to her like this. Not to mention that she thought Carmen was gone, replaced by her evolved form of Hecate.

But such confusion drizzled away as Carmen’s words cut through it all. The voice was as reassuring as it was...natural, like that little demon on your shoulder telling you to reach into the cookie jar.

She could only consider Carmen’s prod, another flurry of intense emotions coursing through her mind. She tried to raise protest, say how she loved Ren, how he loved her, talk of commitment, anything. But the protest died in her throat. She could only let Carmen continue.

**_You have wants...needs...are you one to be bound by the shackles of others?_ **

Again, Ann could only stay silent.

She tried to think of Ren again, but when she thought of that name, all she could remember was the notification of “ _R_ _ead”_ under her texts sent two weeks ago.

Something inside her heart switched, and suddenly, everything was clear. Very familiar words rose to her lips, and a suppressed flame welled up in her chest.

_“You’re...you’re right. No more holding back.”_

Carmen chuckled.

**_There you go.... Nothing can be solved by restraining yourself._ **

**_As always, I can lend you my str-_ **

_“No._ ”

Ann opened her eyes, and a quick flicker of flame alighted in their crisp blue.

_“I can handle this myself.”_

Carmen’s voice tittered one last time before receding back into the depths of Ann’s heart.

Then, as naturally as breathing, Ann changed her look into a smolder. The look was like a gunshot, and she could see the photographer almost stagger. Her grin curled wider when she saw his Adam’s apple bob in a hard gulp.

“Alright, we got the shots you need,” Ann said, blinking in slow, sultry bats as she pointedly cocked her hip, hand poised on her thigh. “...but what about the shots that you _want?_ ”

Another gunshot. Ann couldn’t help but grin.

“Excuse m-“

“Keep shooting.” Ann said. Commanded.

And the poor young man could only raise his camera.

With that, Ann began posing again. This time, graceful, natural. No rigidness in her movements as she strutted about on the soft fake sand of the studio floor, as she gazed longingly into the camera, playing around with the inner tube in her grasp as if she always carried it.

Then, with a showy toss behind her shoulder, the inner tube was gone.

And with it, gone was the playful innocence that she feigned the entire shoot.

As far as Ann was concerned, everything shot before now was staged; it was time for honest-to-God candids, to break the chains of all the restraint and just play things by ear.

From here on out, Ann was gone.

It was Panther’s time to play.

The smolder in her eyes darkened.

She spread her legs and, with a grace and ease that would have made a stripper jealous, dipped down almost perpendicular. Her breasts hung ripe and her back arced in a smooth curve that lead to the perky curve of her ass before she stood back up in a sensuous wave of her body. Her hands followed through with the motion, smoothing down her thighs as her shoulder rolled forward against her cheek.

She continued blinking in slow, teasing bats. Then, holding her pose, her breasts sandwiched between her upper arms, she moved her right finger up her thigh, inch by inch, traversing the creamy skin of her stomach, up, up, up, between the snug valley of her chest, up the ivory tower of her neck, her chin, then, resting it against her glossed lips.

She lowered her stare, the smolder deadly, almost a glare.

She looked deep, deep into lens, straight into the wide eye that was hiding behind it, and, after holding the pose for the perfect length of small eternities, gave her finger a quick lick.

She could almost hear the rustle of the photographer’s jimmies.

Her youthful face was now possessed with a mature aura that she could tell was making his knees shake, the curves of her teenage body handled with a deadly intent that could only be learnt through experience.

Ann weaponized her beauty with every new pose and every new suggestive stroke of her fingers against her skin. She cherished every single second of her slow advance towards the hapless stranger who she didn’t even bother learning the name of, her confident struts echoing throughout her body in delicious shudders.

In her mind, she silently thanked Ren for letting her blossom into the woman she now was, a woman who could break any and all chains that held her back from what she wanted.

And right now, as she raised her arms and let her fingers run down her face, over the swell of her breasts, the tautness of her stomach, she was a woman who wasn’t about to let a guy halfway across the country who didn’t even bother replying to a text stop her from doing what she wanted.

A woman who wanted to fuck.

She was close enough to the photographer that she could hear his breathing now. Huffs through his nose, lips set as he grit his teeth. The shots would probably be close-ups by now, medium wides at best.

She reached behind her neck, and grasped the red string of her top.

“Let’s see if that old cliche is true...” she said, giving the simple knot at the nape of her neck a quick tug. The string fell limp onto her skin, her hand catching the fabric of her top before gravity left her exposed. She felt the shutter click again. “...what they say about pictures.”

Another few clicks of the shutter as she bit her lip, feeling her loins on _fire_. She should have done this way earlier.

“Wh-What do you mean.” he rasped.

“You know,” Ann said, waiting just a few more torturous seconds before slipping her hand away, letting the floral fabric of her bikini top flutter to the ground. Another click of the shutter before she finally reached over and pushed the lens down. She wanted his naked eyes on her now. “...the saying about how they last longer.”

Ann knew that the line probably didn’t even make much sense, but at this point, she was admittedly too horny to care.

With that, her hands flew forward behind his head, and shoved his face forward.

He fell limp into her without any resistance, and his mouth was soon hot on hers. Ann didn’t bother with any tact or restraint now; her tongue shoved itself between his lips, forcing him to pick up the slack or get left behind.

She kept her eyes open, feeling his mouth limply taking her assault, his eyes quivering in disbelief. He was probably unsure if this was real, or if it was just some horny delusion.

Ann’s tongue continued drawing hot laps around his, wetly dominating the space between his cheeks. Eventually he started kissing back, savoring the cherry of her lip gloss. Still, his hands were limp to his side, one still holding his DSLR, and Ann was having none of that.

The best way to know if you’re dreaming is through touch, after all.

Her hands slid off the back of his head, trusting him to hold their liplock.

One of them went to his right, and slipped into the crack between the camera and his palm. She forcibly took it out of his grasp, letting it drop onto the artificial sand below them.

With both of his hands now free, it took minimal effort for Ann to direct them to where she wanted: the swell of her ass and the warmth of her bare breast.

She saw his eyes widen when she placed them where they belonged. Her own hands firmly gave a squeeze over his, making sure he knew what she wanted.

It didn’t take long until the guy finally grasped the situation, and his hands followed suit; the moment Ann’s hands left his, he started squeezing, kneading, groping as viciously as his eyes had.

Ann smiled, moaning into his lips. This was what she wanted. Needed. A touch strong enough to make her skin bristle like electricity, a touch that made her know she was wanted and desired.

She felt him physically shudder when her hand slipped between them and started stroking that naughty bulge in the nylon of his trackpants. To her delight, he reciprocated the action by giving an extra firm squeeze of her tit before drawing a circle with his palm, letting her erect nipple scrape hot friction against his skin. She mewled, and he responded with a knead on her left asscheek, which she rebutted with some extra pressure against the erection pressed against his body.

Back and forth, back and forth, touches were exchanged for gropes, smoothing of hands traded for digging hands.

As the seconds slipped by, so did the intensity mount. The photographer’s eyes were closed at this point as he indulged in his luck, in Ann’s body, her touch on his covered lust. He was daring enough to kiss back now, their liplock growing in passion, in sloppiness-his tongue batted against hers as he shoved it between her teeth.

He switched breasts to appreciate, probably getting a kick out of how they could barely even fit in his appreciative touch. The hand at her ass dared to slip under the the thin fabric of Ann’s bikini bottom, and his fingers dug into that curve with vigor, earning more grateful sighs from Ann’s throat.

By the time their mouths wetly untangled, panting with lips hot and tongues thoroughly wet, Ann knew that it was time to take some steps closer to what she really wanted. They shared the same look, and Ann brought her hands to the bottom hem of his shirt. Obediently, he raised his arms, baring his broad chest for her adoring eyes, and soon, her hands.

Not another word and their mouths clashed together again, spit beginning to string down the sides of their lips. Their kisses continued growing more reckless, and so did their hands. She didn’t stop him from slipping down her stomach and into her bikini bottoms to start rubbing against her moist core, nor did he stop Ann from grabbing his pesky waistband and rip it down to spring out his cock against her skin.

Collective groans tumbled and muddled between their throats. Ann started to pump up and down his veiny cock. He was as big as she could have imagined, just as big as Ren, maybe even a tad thicker. She felt her heat rising and her knees buckle a little at the fingers the photographer padded against her vag. It took him a few prods, but he eventually did find the buzzing nub of her clit, and his fingers began to hastily dig at it. He wasn’t caring of technique (if he even knew of any), but he didn’t need to be; just the touch of a man was driving Ann up the wall, and she was growing hotter than ever before.

She felt pre start squirting onto her wrist, captured a long vocal shudder with her cheeks before she pulled away. Strings of saliva glistened in like gossamer between their mouths, and both of them looked at each other in heavy, needy glares.

Ann started stroking slow now, making a tight band with her thumb and two of her fingers, up and down his meat, from base to its swollen, throbbing head. As she caught her breath, her tantalizing movements made his breaths more labored. The heaving of her chest as she panted alongside him noticeably caught his gaze.

“Having fun?” she said, her voice raspy.

The photographer could only weakly nod, shutting his eyes in a deep groan when Ann maneuvered her palm onto the tip of his cock and started drawing sticky circles.

“Come on...answer me, _shutterboy_ …”

Ann surprised herself at the new moniker, but found that she loved it from the moment the syllables snuck out of her lips. It was so demeaning, condescending to a man who was more than just a few years older than her.

But it more than reflected the power dynamic she had encaged him in, his will effortlessly twirling around the flick of her fingers against his veiny control stick. She let the moment sink in, applying just the most trace and torturous amount of pressure, watching him tilt his head back and whimper. He was edging.

Then, her wrist stopped swirling. She remanuvered her grasp and gently clenched her hand into a fist around the guy’s tip, giving it the gentlest of squeezes.

She forced a long wheeze from his throat, and the fingers he had inside of her went stiff.

“Y-Y _e_ _ah_ …” he finally spat out.

Ann could almost feel the clenching of his balls, and she giggled.

“Good.”

Ann gave one last pump to his cock, base to tip, slicking his own lust all over his prick. Then, with a slide of her finger, slipped her hand away, leaving him desperate and pulsing more pre onto the sand below their feet.

As much as she was enjoying his touch, Ann proceeded to pry his hands out of her, feeling his finger slip wetly out of her vag, his hands reluctantly letting go of her ass.

This petting was only a warm-up, after all. And by the way he had grabbed and indulged in her mouth and her body, the warm-up could have gone much longer if it was up to the photographer.

It was a good thing it wasn’t up to him.

There was a moment’s pause. Ann wanted to feel the heat radiating between their half-naked bodies, take in just how thick the tension was between the respective fires that burned in their loins.

Then, inexplicably, her hands grasped the waistband of his trackpants, and in a deft upwards lift, snapped his cock back inside its tight cage of cotton and nylon.

The photographer hissed, giving her a look as the friction of fabric undoubtedly ran a hot pulse through him.

Ann chuckled again, leaning forward and giving him a reassuring swirl of her glossy lips against his...and running a torturous hand, sticky with his precum, down the skin of his chest, down his stomach, and over the painful bulge of his crotch, pressing his cock flat against his thigh. She could feel the telltale pulsing, imagine the agonizing clench of his spunk bank below.

But of course, Ann wasn’t about to give any reprieve. Not just yet.

Panthers play with their food.

A moment later, and Ann backed off completely, leaving his lips bare, and his barely-restrained cock unattended.

She takes slow steps backwards, blue of her eyes set on his gaze, twinkling with mischief. Wordlessly, the photographer followers her, in slow shuffling of his feet.

“Alright, cool.” Ann says, clasping her hands coyly around her back. The move pushes her tits out more, further enhancing the juxtaposition of those fluffy and innocent platinum blonde pigtails and the maturity of her young, nubile body. “We’ll have some more fun later. But first…”

The photographer suddenly finds himself standing above her as Ann plops down onto one of the photoshoot’s props: a reclined beach chair.

The slight bounce of her breasts at the action was nothing compared to the way Ann proceeded to sprawl out her body, hips twisting as she scooted up the chair until her head rested against the cushion at the chair’s head.

With that inviting grin on her face, Ann’s dainty fingers grasped the string of her bikini bottoms.

“...first, I’m gonna need you to let me have _my_ fun.”

A tug, and the knot came loose. And with a smooth seize, Ann slipped off her bottoms, leaving it dangling in her fingers.

She gave a mewl as she spread her legs, giving the photographer a fat eyeful of her bare, glistening, and needy muff.

She let the moment linger, enjoying the wide-eyed gaze on her pussy, noting the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. She grinned, feeling the flame inside her loins grow only hotter. She took her free hand and smoothed it down the smooth expanse of her stomach, and took two fingers to slick it over her vulva before spreading it apart.

The photographer continued to stare.

Another moment passed. Then, Ann dropped the swimwear to the sand.

Not another goad, and he was upon her.

He started off where he was familiar: their tongues coiled together, lips joining and separating in hot smacks of air. But the kiss was short-lived as the photographer’s salivating hunger led his kisses down her neck. She could feel him breathe heated pants through his nostrils like an animal as his tongue trailblazed down her collarbone.

His hands were already at one of her breasts when he opened his mouth wide to devour the other. Ann couldn’t help but let out a well-earned moan as his tongue lavished her erect nipple in spit, while his teeth left marks as he suckled in desperate chokes. Her fingers were curled hotly inside her by the time he switched his mouth to the other breast, the bottom swell cupped tight by his hand.

“There we go, shutterboy.” she choked out between raspy sighs. “I want you to fucking _ravish_ me…”

Once again, Ann surprised herself with her own words.

 _“...ravish?”_ she mused. _“Jeez, Carmen must really be getting to me.”_

In due time, there was no room for drifting thoughts, not when this guy she had been fantasizing about fulfilled her demand in every way that he could, mouth treating her body like it was goddamned candy.

She brought up a finger to bite into as she felt her entire body jut forward in a squeal-the guy had taken the initiative to shove the hand at her pussy aside, replacing it with his own. Ann’s breaths began to grow more staccato as he started pumping his fingers inside of her, covering her chest with his drool all the while. The sensation of that naughty tongue on her skin was almost too much to bear, and the way his fingers sloppily curled and pushed into her gushing folds made Ann shut her eyes in pure delight.

But of course, she knew it could be better, and as with the heavy petting, Ann wasn’t about to let this temporary pit stop be the final destination.

Her hands grabbed the photographer by his hair, gripping _tight_. She felt him let out a surprised grunt into her chest, but she forcefully pushed him off her breast. A string of spit followed the separation, and the photographer’s eyes were dazed; a mixture of shock and slight pain at Ann’s steering fingers.

Before he could say anything, the hands at his head directed him to where Ann needed that tongue of his the most, and the photographer was forced to withdraw his fingers from her heat as she plunged his face straight between her legs.

Ann bit her lip, feeling her back arch again at the feeling of his tongue _immediately_ going to work on her. She knew she didn’t truly need to guide him as the photographer started eating her out in a hungry frenzy, but she liked feeling of his hair coiled between her fingers, the sensation of control.

His hands were gripping her thighs by the time he found her clit with his lips. Ann’s sighs come out in choked hiccups now.

It’s obvious that, again, he isn’t too sure what he’s doing. But the fact that he’s obediently devouring her cunt, even having the decency to suck on her clit in a way that explodes pure electricity to course through her skin, it’s almost enough for Ann to ride it all out, to wash away the muggy lust that’s been plaguing her for the past few weeks.

Almost.

Ann makes this clear by raising her hips, _shoving_ her cunt onto the poor man’s mouth, forcing his tongue into her, forcing her thighs around his head.

“Come on, shutterboy, I know you can do better than this sh-... _shit…!_ ”

No sooner had Ann started to goad him on, those hands of his switched from that grip on her thighs, and were now firmly dug into the flesh of her ass, fingers in full spread. He lifted the weight of her body with his arms, as his tongue worked its damndest, his jaw opening in closing with wet lips slickly sliding in hot strokes against her outer folds.

 _This_ was more like it. Ann’s vision grew spots as she felt her insides clench. This stranger was gobbling her up like a fucking exotic fruit, every swipe and strike of his tongue inside of her cunt making her chest tighten up. The fire inside of her blazed more than ever before.

Her fingers were white-knuckle as her arms grabbed tight onto the head of the recliner above her head. Her hips seized up, her slender frame beginning to quake as she felt her breath ripped out with every passing second.

Yes, this was letting go. This was what she had wanted from the beginning of these shoots, from the _moment_ Ren left her here by her lonesome, making her fuck herself with toys as she cried thinking about the empty spot next to her bed.

This was her taking what she wanted, taking control of her _own_ fate without worrying about the shackling links of social obligation, of stigma.

Once again, the photographer's mouth went straight for her clit, his tongue slipping out of her snatch in a hot slide.

Ann saw stars, and all at once, started cumming.

Her squeals and delighted yells of bliss echoed around the walls of the studio, but she didn’t care. Her insides clenched as liquid fire began to spurt out of her, right onto the face of this random guy who was having the luckiest day of his life.

This was getting close to what she needed. She felt his mouth lap up all the discharge of her pussy, the cream that leaked out from her pink, needy folds.

Just a little more, just a _little_ more and she’d be satisfied. As long as this guy’s mouth stayed on her, his tongue kept wriggling so deliciously inside of her, she’d be-

And all at once, an orgasm, a chain of sweet release that really should have lasted much, much, much longer, was cut short.

The fire inside of her ceased its spouting, its manifestation into the stickiness between her legs.

Ann opened her eyes again, and felt her pussy bare, mouthless.

Unappreciated.

She panted, and looked down.

Looking up at her, his hands gripping onto her legs, was that useless bastard of a photographer, his mouth sticky and wet, grinning idiotically up at her.

It took Ann a moment to realize the grin was supposed to look cocky.

“So, heh heh…” he said, looking all sorts of smug. “You liked that, huh?”

Everything in the moments leading up to this balled up into a single emotion, its heat almost rivaling her horniness: fury.

“Seriously, dude?” Ann said. _Spat_ . “Did I _fucking_ tell you to stop?”

The look of pure rage on Ann’s face, which moments ago was twisted in a knot of pure rapture, was a look that warranted the rapid loss of blood in the photographer’s cheeks.

“Wh-Wh-What did I-”

Ann _lunged_ forward, her dexterity and the shock of the photographer making the maneuver of tackling him from the beach chair an easy one.

He landed onto the fake sand with a heavy thud as Ann lorded over him now, her dripping pussy in desperate need of release. She looked down at him with that cold glare, her blue eyes ablaze with anger.

The fucking _gall_ of this guy. Only _moments_ before reaching the peak, the zenith of pleasure that her body had craved, had needed, and he decided to stop just to _gloat?_

Ann settled herself on her knees then, shuffling forward to have her cunt directly above the stupid fucker’s mouth. Again, her hands found themselves rooted in the photographer’s hair. But this time, she pulled with intent as she lowered herself and smeared her crotch all over his face.

She heard him let out groans of pain and protest, but she didn’t care.

She was going to get off, and she was going to get off _exactly_ the way she so pleased.

In this case, riding this guy’s face until she came again. And again. And again.

Ann tossed her head back as she set a vicious rhythm. She could hear her bottom lips smack wetly and stickily against the photographer’s mouth, hear him panting and huffing, trying to breathe as much as he could as his tongue was forced to keep up with Ann’s voracious desire.

For her part, Ann couldn’t care less. Just as she had forced her lips on his at the beginning of all this, she would smear herself all over his mouth at any pace she damn well please; if he was too slow to catch up, that’d be his own fault.

Fortunately for both both parties, the guy choking under Ann’s weight eventually got into the groove of it, and in due time, his mouth _really_ got into it. Lips firmly scoured slick heat over her pussy lips, his tongue burrowing in wild wriggles. As Ann started to ride the guy’s face in earnest, the sound of moist slurps and smacks began to echo out in the studio.

Ann was about to start taunting him as she felt the little peaks of pleasure below her start to plateau before a moan wriggled out of her throat, drawn out and escalating in pitch as she was forced to fall forward, hands digging into the faux sand.

The photographer had slid his hands on her ass, giving it hearty kneads, and somehow, simultaneously began to focus on her clit, sucking with vigor. It drove Ann absolutely insane, and before she knew it, the drawn-out moan turned into a squeal as her body quaked under the pressure of another orgasm.

She clenched around the pink exploring muscle of the photographer as her thrusts grew sporadic, cream squirting all over his face. But as soon as it came, the peak plateaued again, and Ann went chasing in hot pursuit.

Thankfully, the photographer had learned his lesson the first time, and didn’t even try to remove himself from the hot and soaked fruit he suckled on. Obedient, compliant, subservient, he ravished, just as Ann wanted.

Another peak came in a sudden wave, and Ann giggled in the next shudders of pleasure ripping through her, giddy. She felt that knot inside of her beginning to unwind more and more at a rapid pace.

By this point, Ann discovered that she wasn’t getting off from the stimulation of this stranger’s mouth on her cunt (though those well-timed adorations of her clit were more than welcome), no, Ann found herself more empowered than she ever was than when she was with Ren.

Whenever they had sex, it was always about _his_ needs. He’d let her finish on him of course, pamper her with his tongue with some foreplay, but it was always as an afterthought, or for the express intent to get her ready for his throbbing lust. And as a result, Ann became conditioned to serve his needs, whether he knew it or not.

But here, Ann was serving the _only_ person that mattered, the one person she had neglected ever since he had left her here: herself. She didn’t care about waiting for Ren, didn’t care about this guy’s pleasure that she choked with her soaking lust, didn’t care about anything other than her own pleasure.

The only thing she cared about right now was riding this little slave’s face off until she couldn’t even count how many times she had cum.

And as she clenched, feeling another chain of little peaks rip out loud moans from her hoarse throat, Ann knew she was getting there.

It was by at least the sixth or seventh climax that Ann’s thrusts stopped, leaving her core to dip all over the guy’s lips, giving him an opportunity to truly catch his breath. She felt him breathing in the musky heat of her core, hands idly resting on the skin of her lower back.

Ann was on all fours now, panting with the most satisfied of smiles as sweat dribbled down the side of her jaw. She felt aftershocks ripple through her in pleasant undulations of heat. It crossed her mind that the toy between her spread legs was a person when the photographer’s hands began to slowly smooth themselves across the hot skin of her back, so she did him a courtesy by rolling onto her back. She’d let him catch his breath without her vag making a mess of his face-she’d done more than enough of that for today.

Her skin cooled as she lay there naked, looking up into the overhead studio lighting, letting sweat from her efforts run little lines across her skin. She let her chest rise and fall to the rhythm of her still-rapid pulse.

She felt less tense than before. Not by much, but it was better than those horny thoughts driving her mad with every waking second. A pleasurable thrum still resonated from her core, ghostly tingling flutter on her core, already missing the feeling of a hot tongue, of suckling lips.

It wasn’t until a low moan rose from her throat did Ann realize that she was fingering herself, her fingers pumping steadily pumping in and out of her, trying to quell that empty sensation between her legs.

She bit her lip as she curled a finger and went close to that _perfect_ spot inside her that Ren would hit without even realizing. She let out another moan, louder this time, before realizing that her other hand was at her tit, nipple flipping through the gaps in her fingers.

The knot inside her thrummed frustratingly, and that was Ann forced herself to sit up.

There was a perfectly good and throbbing dick lying only a few feet from her, and there was literally no reason for her to stop herself from using it.

With her heart set and the heat inside of her ablaze as ever, Ann crawled over to the photographer, who still lay flat on the faux sand. His face was still glazed over with her quim and his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. Ann almost felt sorry for the guy, but then her gaze wandered across his firm pecs, down to the pulsing package in those trackpants, and once more the only thing on her mind was how this guy would feel inside of her.

Ann tore her gaze away from her toy as she crawled a few feet to her left, making a beeline for that pink inner tube that she had thrown over her shoulder minutes before. It was time for the main attraction.

Without thinking about it, Ann got into her favorite position: face down, ass up.

Her cheek kissed the plastic of the inner tube as her hands found a grip in its air-stuffed curve. She called out over her shoulder once she was confident in the steadiness of her knees digging into the sand below her.

“Hey,” Ann said. She heard a rustle, and smiled, catching the subtle noise of his mouth falling open at the sight of her wiggling her exposed ass. “I’ve had my fun, isn’t it time for yours, shutterboy?”

She heard his breaths grow shallower. A moment of inaction longer, and then the desperate rustling of fabric, a frustrated grunt, the sound scuttling knees. In no time at all, Ann bit her lip as the photographer’s hands slid over her shapely asscheeks. Even as he kneeled tall over her, she could feel how hot his breaths were as he panted in pure excitement.

A mewl slipped through her teeth as she felt that prized toy of hers finally kiss her skin, smearing precum on her thigh. The photographer let out another frustrated groan, and was forced to remove a hand off Ann’s skin just to hold his throbbing and eager cock steady.

Ann would have been amused with the way he fumbled about, thrusting forward towards her puffy, needy pussylips, and missing...again, but she was growing just as frustrated as him as she leaked anticipation all over the insides of her legs.

Thankfully, after the fourth try, the photographer’s cockhead firmly lodged itself between her lower lips, and with a shaky thrust, sank the rest of his goods inside of Ann’s snug hot pocket.

Her entire body hummed in bliss as he slipped _every_ inch of himself inside of her. Ann’s fingers clenched the moment his thighs gave their first kiss to hers, feeling his balls squish against her muff. He gave a surprised gasp and she felt his body shiver in that moment; he probably didn’t even mean to sheathe himself completely.

There was a moment for him to adjust, to catch his breath, steady himself. For her part, Ann just savored the feeling of finally feeling stuffed with something other than plastic. His meat pulsed in stuttery tandem with the staccato of his pulse, and each pulse echoed deliciously through Ann’s slender frame.

Not a moment more and the photographer’s hips pulled back before snapping back forward, drawn into Ann’s succulent heat. She purred at how tight his fingers welded into her skin; he’d definitely never done it raw before.

Another few tentative thrusts, more curses and hissing gasps, then a syncopation between their skin was established; in and out, half in, half out, full plunge, pause, out, and in. Each inch of his prick scraped out electricity through her skin, and Ann couldn’t get enough of it.

That syncopation grew into a steadier rhythm now, and their skin softly smacked in a more constant repetition. Ann bit her lip as the throbbing crown inside her scratched itches that she had failed to even come close to getting rid of. Her clit ran wetly against each reentry of her new, pulsing toy, and she was feeling better by the second.

Slowly growing faster, the photographer continued losing himself inside Ann’s body. She felt his hands wander up to her lower back, palming patches of her sweat. A sigh strung with a moan when his hand started kneading her ass again. A telltale hiss later, and his hands could only stay on her hips; Ann’s pussy sucking him in was taking the priority over appreciation of her young curves.

It wasn’t long until the pace started to plateau. It was a steady clapping of their thighs, intermingled with Ann’s husky moans, the photographer’s grunts and intermittent cursing.

Ann felt herself growing more taut with each thrust, felt that flame inside her stoked. It was the best she’d felt so far, but of course, it wasn’t enough.

It was the sex she’d gotten from Ren after a nice date, a nice comfy coupling during a lazy Sunday.

 _Not_ the kind of sex she’d expect from the looks this stranger had given her during the shoot, the kind of raw, primal dicking that Ren would give her after she’d been giving him fuck-me eyes and subtle touches during the entirety of a day at school.

She felt the photographer’s hands wander again, prompting him to readjust his focus.

“Can’t you _ahn-_ go a little f-faster, shutterboy?” Ann said between low groans. “I didn’t strip in the middle of a shoot for you to show off your sweet lovin’ skills; I wanna get _dicked down_.”

To accentuate the desperate need of her words, Ann started cycling her hips back into the photographer’s crotch, making his successive thrusts smash harder into her perky ass. With how passive she’d been since he’d slipped inside her, she was sure it surprised him, a trend she was sure to keep going steady.

She heard him choke out a curse, but still felt reluctance in his forward pushes.

“Am I getting through to you yet?” Ann continued, more groans, more backwards pushing of her twat into his soaked crotch. “ _I need you to fuck me raw_.”

Thankfully he needed no more words or nor any flashy demonstrations of her expertise. Just a readjustment of his hands lower on her hips, at the juncture of her waist and her thighs, and he cut loose.

Ann squealed. Her goading had done the trick as the photographer really started to go at it, each drive of his hips growing harder, faster, and deeper than the last. Her nipples dug into the coarseness of the sand below her, and she felt her knees grow wobbly as the muscles of her inner legs wound up tight, squeezing snug pocket of her pussy around the guy’s solid prick.

There was a hiss of air as Ann’s nails finally punctured holes into the grip of that pink inner tube, but she was panting and moaning too loudly to care.

Faster, faster, harder, _harder,_ this was more her speed. He was reckless in the way that he rutted her. There wasn’t any sort of expertise, but again, she didn’t need any technique; the only technique she wanted was just how hard and fast he could smash that fat cock of his into her needy little cunt.

And he was doing that job _perfectly_ well.

Sweat glistened on Ann’s cheeks with the twinkle of her stud earrings as she started really losing herself to the mindless dicking her body squeezed out of the guy behind her. She was so close to a climax, every single branch of her nervous system prickling with anticipant electricity as quim stickily flew in clear strands in the union of her lips and the photographer’s tool.

Her breath came out in short burstfire exhalations as she cursed, trying to bite back the moans, until she could only let any and every exclamation jump out of her throat in a foul and incoherent string of squeals and profanity.

This was that fog that she needed, that incessant apex of pure carnal pleasure that her body so craved.

The photographer really _drove_ into her, splitting her tight, slender body with every inwards shove of his rock-hard prick. Just a few more thrusts, just a few more and she could finally get that sensation of cumming in a hot melting puddle around that searing fat manmeat. She panted and heaved, pushing her ass back, meeting this guy thrust for thrust, growing closer and closer, inner pussyflesh just rippling in antici-

“ _F-F-Fuck Ann, Jesus…!_ ”

She felt the thrusts slam into a halt as the photographer’s sweaty thighs _slammed_ into hers with a definitive forwards thrust.

Then, she felt a buckshot of hot stickiness shoot inside of her, followed by another, and another. The sensation was close to bringing her to her own end, and she let out a long and raspy groan as the photographer spilled more of his spunk into her heat. She bit her lip, waiting for more of that hot batter to keep splashing against her, more of that pulsing toy of hers to stretch her out even in the throes of the photographer’s orgasm…

...but instead she felt her inner core suddenly become painfully empty, and hot, sticky ropes shooting out all over the curve of her back.

“Ah _fuck yes, Ann, oh…_ ”

Shot after shot, rope after rope of the photographer’s pent-up nut painted Ann’s sweat-dotted skin.

And with every thick line of white, Ann could only imagine what _she_ would be feeling if this dumbass had just stayed lodged _inside_ her, instead of ejecting to make a mess of her back.

The flame inside her began to recede again, back into its frustrating ball of repression; she was so close to that mind-melting chain of climaxes that she had been working for all this time, and once again, this fucker had stolen it right before her eyes.

As she expected, his load was huge. Thick wads of it, rolling down the curved expanse of her skin, gathering in hot puddles of cum. Again, Ann imagined what such a fat load would feel like, nestled nice and thick in her near-empty womb, and she

Contempt filled Ann as she felt the photographer spurt out the last shots of his climax before he fell back onto his ass. She didn’t even bother fingering herself. That toy between his legs was the only thing that could get her what she wanted.

Eventually she rolled onto her own ass, sitting up. She felt the goo on her back race in lukewarm lines down her skin. Looking down, her annoyance only worsened when she noticed not even a single drop of cum leaked out of her; there wasn’t anywhere near enough of it inside her still-pulsing, still very much horny snatch.

And as she stood up, that annoyance worsened further when Ann felt a distinct lack of soreness between her thighs, despite the fact that this photographer had a slightly larger package than Ren’s.

She walked the short distance to where the photographer was lying, feeling her core pulsate in inert frustration.

It was when she was close enough to get his attention that her annoyance reached its peak: there he was, lying with his hands behind his head, grinning like the biggest fucking idiot in the entire world, looking up at her with the _smuggest_ of curls on his lips, as if he had just rocked her world, done her the biggest favor she could have ever possibly asked for.

He only made it worse when he _verbally_ began to gloat.

“Not so bad for a shutter _boy_ , huh?”

Ann felt her eye twitch. Unfortunately for the photographer below her, his mouth kept talking.

“Bet you wish your boyfriend could make you throw it back like that.”

He chuckled.

Ann growled.

She didn’t have any words for this pathetic, worthless slave. Not when the raw energy of her fused fury and unparalleled _horniness_ coursed through her, drumming against her skin as she got onto the ground in front of the photographer and split his legs apart.

He didn’t have time to react, only feel a shudder go down his spine at the look of pure wrath and hunger that Ann railgunned into his face.

In the blink of an eye, Ann was straddling him, that cock of his grinding once more against the unsatisfied folds of her gushing pussy. He let out a nervous and aroused chuckle.

“W-Well alright, Ann, I didn-“

“I wasn’t aware we were on a first name basis, shutter _boy_.”

Another nervous chuckle, followed by a grunt as Ann continued to intently slide her heat against his rapidly-hardening cock. She leaned forward, pushing her fingers, her _nails_ deep into his pecs. She earned a painful hiss, but kept staring at him like he was a piece of undercooked meat, and her eyes were the griddle. She saw that Adam’s apple duck.

“H-Hey if it was about that comment ab-ab-about your boyfriend I-“ he gulped midsentence, growing pale at the flame in Ann’s eye, as well as the fact that his cock was almost fully erect now, pressing flat between the sandwich of his own stomach and the ever-slickening lips of her vulva. “I didn’t even _know_ that y-you had one and I-“

Ann took him off guard again, this time with an innocent smile. But the flame in her pupils remained.

“Oh, no, it’s not about that.”

“Th-Then why are y-“

“What? Angry? Upset?”

The photographer didn’t say anything, letting out only a wheeze when a particular slide of Ann’s snatch over his veiny toy made his toes curl. Ann purred a most devious purr.

Her eye caught something above the photographer’s head. It was a colorful piece of fabric, floral. The bikini top she had carelessly thrown early on.

An idea immediately flashed through her mind, and Ann couldn’t help but give another one of those purrs. Her hands pressed flat against the photographer’s skin as she kept the rhythm against his cock steady, and smoothed her hands up his pecs, up his collarbone, then, moving to his arms, coercing them to be raised flat above his head.

Her breasts sank hotly against his skin as she very nearly lay the entirety of her nubile frame on top of him, her hands still smoothing up, up, up along the length of his arms.

“Well, don’t worry, I’m not any of those things.”

Ann made an effort to make sure that his eyes were drowning in hers, that her mouth was close enough to his own and his nostrils that the only thing he could breathe were her own exhales, lips just close enough, but still too far.

It was the perfect distraction, and by the time she pulled back, her hands had already done their work.

“No, shutterboy. I’m just still very, very, very horny. And from here on out, I’m going to use you to make sure that goes away.”

She sat back up into a straddle then, looking down at him with that pitying look.

Then, pulling her slick snatch back with a bite of her lip, grasped him by his base, and pointed it straight up. Another moment of aiming it just right before that purple crown of his popped back inside of her.

Ann gave a sigh that stretched into a taffylike mewl as she sank down on her toy, sucking him back inside of her inch by inch. She let gravity pull her down freely by the last few inches, and unceremoniously hilted the photographer’s meat with a wet _squelch._

Her eye shut, moaning. Just from the sheer size and the position of him, that cock of his hit her in _that_ perfect spot that he only blindly hit during their unfortunately short-lived coupling a few minutes before.

Ann raised herself again, dropping back down. Another loud moan, and a smile curled on her lips. Yup. It was gonna hit that spot consistently, and she was going to make it pummel that sweet, sweet little baby drum until she went blind with stars.

With such promised catharsis so close at hand, there wasn’t any time to waste.

The small of her back undulated as her hips rolled in greedy vertical swivels, taking that juicy cock in and out, in and out. Faster and faster, Ann continued to fuck herself on the photographer’s prick, her hands eagerly toying with her clit, playing with the supple breasts that now swayed like ripe fruit.

All the while, Ann moaned. Wantonly, loudly, unabashedly, as she felt her inner folds stretched out and split open by her pulsing toy. She knew she was making a most tantalizing image, with the full front of her body on naked display as those pigtails of hers rocked with sweat flying, her face in complete ecstasy as she threw her head back.

The photographer’s hands would have been all over her by now, as her entire slenderness rocked in the most delicious of shudders, the sex growing fast again, frantic at the pace of her own discretion.

They _would_ have, if it weren’t for what her hands had done to them earlier.

Ann opened her eyes just to relish the sight, and wasn’t disappointed at how hilarious he looked: gone was the photographer’s cocky, grubby little grin, replaced now by a desperate grimace of grinding teeth, a look of utter frustration as Ann continued using him for her own gain. But the highlight of the sight was the fate of those mischevous hands of his, twisted above his head, bound by the tightly-knotted fabric of a bikini top.

He looked so utterly helpless, this nameless, desperate, older guy. And it made Ann’s chest swell, made that fire inside of her blaze brighter as she started reaching that apex again, her breath growing shallow.

She was in _full_ control.

In the span of only an hour, she had completely and utterly put this man into submission, twisted him around her finger without so much a peep.

He had no say in it. His body had no say in it. His cock had no say in it.

As long as she could get him back to full-mast, this little toy was hers to ride, for as long as she wanted. And that fact, made visually apparent by how she bound him below the tight pressure of her tight snatch over his slick cock, made Ann grow hotter by the second.

It wasn’t long until that knot of her inner muscle would unwind once more, those pigtails of hers rocking and sweat flying as she threw her head back, spine arching in a rigid clamp. The movements of her hips didn’t grind the cock inside her anymore much as they smashed her on top of it; up and down, up and down, Ann was on her haunches now, willingly splitting her inner folds with that pulsing heat that was making her lose her mind.

Again and again and again, that swollen crown of her toy struck her hidden spot, bringing about stars in her eyes, wanton squeals ripped from her throat.

It took one last look at the emasculation of the undeservedly cocky bastard below her, and Ann’s flame flared up one last pillar of fire.

She dug her nails into his chest until she drew blood, falling forward and laughing in unadulterated bliss. Ann came, clenching tight, her frame rocking as waves ripped through her in unrelenting cascades of pure visceral heat.

She heard her discharge squelch hotly out and around the cock stuffing her to the brim before the only thing she could hear were her own shuddering yelps.

Ann continued to move her hips, coaxing out as many waves as she could. She shut her eyes tight as she focused all her strength into her movements, filling every inch of her loins with as much cock as she could, pounding that spot inside of herself again and again, letting this peak be the chain of several more, for as long as she could.

She leaned back, her hands on top of the photographer’s knees as she threw her head back, and lost herself in it all. The hairclip that stubbornly clung to her front bangs threw itself off with the sweat of her effort, and Ann kept cumming, kept laughing as her chest swelled with the effort to keep asphyxiating herself with blinding bliss.

In the midst of her own self-induced delirium, Ann felt the prick inside of her pulse, accompanied by muffled curses as her toy’s climax followed her third (or was it fourth?). She felt that thick batter of white, discharges of sticky heat that had nowhere to go other than _in._ She lulled her head back at the feeling, allowing her body to just sit on top of that fat prick, milking it for all it was worth, filling her womb with hot rope after rope of semen.

She came in the middle of the photographer’s own peak, a load that was just as fat as the one he had dumped all over her back.

Her hips stopped completely then as Ann just panted, letting the world take form again, letting her calves feel the faux sand on her skin, her sweat-basted skin feel the bristle of circulated studio air, her body breathe and feel something other than the manmeat stuffing her snatch.

The fire in her loins was considerably smaller now, and for the first time since she had taken the plunge to kiss this stranger, Ann felt satisfaction.

The mere presence of that fire meant that she wasn’t fully satisfied, far from it, but at least a considerable amount of that tension was eased. For the next couple minutes, Ann kept sitting there, corked with her veiny toy keeping all of that nice, hot seed swirling in a hot swell inside of her, lording over her subjugated slave on the throne of his lap.

Soon enough, Panther was hungry again. Lithely, Ann repositioned herself, slipping herself off the photographer’s prick for only the shortest of moments as she took him by the ankles, and pushed his legs back.

He had no words of protest on his lips or in his eyes. Only the flicker of fear in his pupils as Ann gave him the most predatory of looks in her flash of blue. His cock was as solid as it ever was, poking through his thighs towards her, her new favorite seat.

And once more, Ann took claim of every inch, her thighs smashing down onto the bottom of his as her hands gripped tight to his ankles as if he were her own human wheelbarrow, useful only for dumping loads at her own pace and discretion.

As she continued to fuck this faceless toy into submission, milking his balls until he was completely dry, the only thought that crossed her mind other than the numbing pleasure was the question of why she hadn’t done this sooner.

Inside her heart, Carmen could only laugh.

Who needed Ren?

* * *

Across the country, Ren sneezed.

An indiscernible tightness in his chest prompted him to sit up in the sheets of the bed, groggy. He felt a cold unease.

The sudden burst also stirred the woman sleeping under the sheets next to him.

Her warm hands smoothed over him, and she reassuringly draped herself over his back. She was a flimsy replacement for Ann, and always was. But it got him through the most frustrating of lonely afternoons, just like this one.

The thought of his girlfriend made him glance at the phone on the love hotel’s nightstand. It didn’t light up. Strange, considering this was usually the time she’d pester him for a video call or words of affection.

Something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” the faceless woman said, the warm breath that wisped against the goosebumps of his neck only making him feel more tense. He pried the hands from his skin, and got up for the bathroom. He mumbled dismissively.

“Nothing.”

Steaming water ran over the stained skin of his body, and Ren couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt that suddenly welled up in his chest. Maybe the heat of the shower could ease it away.

But it wouldn’t, not when that guilt was suddenly accompanied by the inexplicable feeling of fresh separation.

Inside his heart, Arsene shivered.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**For more femdom goodness, follow Figgy and Mully over on to** **the** [ **Black Penguin's Femdom February Collection!** ](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BP_Femdom)

* * *


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